We'll Never Be Royals (A Choice With No Regrets Fanfic)
by InsaneAngel22
Summary: "And we'll never be royals," Isabel grinned, a flash of mischief in her sparkling blue eyes. Farlan grinned with her, and Levi managed to crack a tiny smile, but that was all he gave. They were three outsiders just trying to get by in life; a runaway, a street musician, and thug. But when they met, things changed. Set in a Modern AU. Story title and rating may change over time!
1. Prologue

It was about noon when the girl stepped onto the subway, her short, jagged, uneven auburn-red hair in pigtails, her velvet, aqua-blue eyes like burnt out stars. Her jeans were ripped, her shirt and jacket as thin as possible, but she kept her head held high.

Her fingers touched the cold metal body of the lighter in her jacket pocket; she'd used up her last smoke about an hour earlier. She needed another pack of cigarettes.

Fumbling about on the train, she realized she had no money. When was the last time she had cash?

She thought back to yesterday; ah, yes, yesterday, when she spent ten dollars on her previous smokes. She muttered a barely audible _shit _beneath her breath as she slumped back down in her seat. Her stomach grumbled in response.

"Not now, goddamn it," she murmured again, looking up to check if eyes were on her. No one was looking her way. No one thought she was a crazy hobo talking to herself on the train. She sighed in relief and tried to contain her hunger, but her stomach just wouldn't let her.

She grimaced and vowed that when she got off of the train, she'd find some money and buy herself some food.

About three minutes after the female hopped on the subway, a street musician walked in and sat across from her, placing his guitar case next to him carefully. His hazel eyes twinkled as if he was content with his life, though there was a sad glow to his pale face. His blonde hair looked like he hadn't combed it in days, which was obviously true.

The hazel-eyed boy stuck one hand in his jacket pocket and felt the rough twenty-dollars he'd earned playing guitar on the streets.

He looked nervous, ran his hands through his hair, and glanced at the girl in front of him. She looked pissed, so he averted his gaze from her and instead watched the subway doors to see who was walking in.

A few seconds after the blonde started watching the subway doors, an intimidating short man strode into the train. He was thug, yes, who spent most of his life on the streets with danger all around him. He had jet-black hair that contrasted with his uniquely bright pair of eyes, which were the color of ice.

He himself seemed to be made of ice as well, because he gave everyone around him the cold shoulder (as if he was the only one on the subway), and never once cracked a smile.

His silver-blue eyes grazed his surroundings as he parted a small crowd (no one wanted trouble with him). He stood next to the seated auburn-haired female, aware people were staring at him, and felt the gun in his pants pocket.

During the course of time these that three rode on the subway, velvet, aqua-blue eyes met a glaring pair of silver-blue ones, but neither the female nor the male made a gesture to contact each other. Silver-blue eyes met a pair of burnt out, yet still twinkling hazel ones, but neither the musician nor the first male spoke.

The girl stepped out of the train, the male right behind her, and the musician behind him.

They went their separate ways.

But little did they know that their paths would cross again.

-END OF PROLOGUE-


	2. Royals

Isabel was nervous.

This wasn't a feeling she usually had, but considering the conditions she was raving through at the moment, it was proper to describe her feelings as this—_nervous._

Her stomach was flip-flopping like a pancake because of the following things—one, she'd just stolen some random guy she'd bumped into the street's wallet; two, the random passerby she'd snagged the wallet off of was chasing her—and three: she was as hungry as a person who hadn't even a measly crumb to put in their mouth. This was true on her part, because she hadn't actually eaten in two days, since she'd spent all her money on cheap joints at multiple liquor stores she came across.

She huffed, panting as she turned her head to the side to see if her assailant (well, technically, _she _was the assailant) was still chasing her—and, unfortunately, the fat-ass still was.

"HEY! HEY, YOU! GET BACK HERE! I'M CALLING THE POLICE RIGHT NOW! GIVE ME MY WALLET BACK!" The less-than-skinny man had beady black eyes, like a bird's, and a shiny head like an egg.

Isabel narrowed her aquamarine eyes and groaned. She needed to lose him, stat, but how? Even though her victim was totally obese, boy, he could run—and sure was determined to catch her. _Hm…_ she thought, keeping her eyes narrowed as she sped through the crowds of people she crashed into on the sidewalk.

The city of Rose in Upper East Manhattan was boisterous and booming; everyone was _always _trying to get somewhere. Isabel had no time to marvel in her surroundings (though there wasn't really much to look at in the city; mostly just apartment buildings, restaurants and corporate industries), as she tilted her yet once more to take a sneak peek at the chubby man chasing her.

He was pulling out his phone and dialing a number. _The police? Ugh, shit, _Isabel mentally slapped herself and then pushed farther into the crowds of people so that she wasn't visible to the man.

Her makeshift plan consisted of her getting out of the fat man's view and ducking into a deserted alley—or so she _thought_ it was a deserted alley.

As she was about to run into the dark abyss of what apparently _was _an alley, she slammed into something hard. She squeaked loudly and stumbled backwards, realizing that she had run into a person. "Hey, watch where y—" she was about to scold, but a series of familiar piercing yells interrupted her remark.

"SOMEBODY, GET HER! THAT GIRL STOLE MY WALLET!"

_Damn! _Isabel thought. The fat-ass was getting closer—she clearly underestimated his physical abilities. As her eyes adjusted, she stood frozen, glancing at the body she'd bumped into.

Standing tall at five feet eleven inches (much taller than her height of 5'4"), was a man a few years older than her—probably about twenty-two or twenty-three. He had pale white skin and angel-blonde hair that looked like it hadn't been combed in days.

His hazel-green eyes were twinkling; opened wide in surprise as he had a bit of a staring contest with the thieving pickpocket in front of him.

The thing from his appearance that really seemed to pop out was the guitar case he was carrying on his shoulders.

_Ah, a street musician, huh… _

Volatile footsteps came closer and so did piercing, shrill accusations of a stolen wallet.

In the spur of the moment, Isabel grabbed the street musician's arm and tugged him into the alley with her. She was still huffing and puffing and panting disgracefully as she (and the blonde street musician), made their way further into the alley.

"Ey, now, wait a minute 'ere, you can't just—kidnap me!" The musician protested, eyebrows furrowed, a small _o _as the shape of his mouth. He had a thick Scottish accent that sort of sounded like crystalline clear water or a flowing river—it was smooth and natural. He was shocked, he was, but he didn't want to move in fear of becoming mistaken as this hooligan girl's accomplice.

"SHHH!" Isabel demanded of the blonde boy, pulling him close to the brick wall in the dark—pulling him closer to her subconsciously. Her velvet, aqua-blue eyes searched the passing people outside of the alley.

She held her breath, and so did the musician.

After what seemed like eternity, the fat man finally came, stepping into the alley with a distraught look on his face. He gulped and backed away—fearing he might get jumped or attacked by a random thug lurking in the shadows of the menacing passage.

And so, to conclude Isabel's alarming tirade, she ended up getting away with murder (as usual).

"Whew…!" She exhaled and then started laughing, obviously relieved that her immoral actions would _not _be justified with severe consequences involving the police _and _jail.

She took out the wallet from her jacket pocket and counted all the dollar bills in it. "10, 20, 30, 40…50! Hell yes!" She cheered, forgetting that there was someone else with her.

She was so hypnotized by the green pieces of paper she'd found in the wallet that she didn't even hear the street musician clear his throat until the second time he did it.

"…Oh, uh…you can go now," She lazily told him, not seeming interested in getting to know him at all. "Actually, I was just making my way over here," he replied in the same Scottish accent he'd spoken in before.

Isabel raised an auburn eyebrow. "Uh, what…?" She frowned, looking the man up and down. He was donning a simple pair of blue jeans, a white shirt with a brown tie, and a faded green bomber jacket. "Yea. Sometimes I go into alleys and tune my guitar. They're quite quiet places, actually, if you just sit and listen-I mean, just look, right now, I'll stop talking and you listen—"

"Look, I have to go, I—"

The musician interrupted her by shushing her and shaking his head. He put a finger to his lips as a symbol of silence and Isabel glared at him, obviously bored.

After a few moments of silence, her narrowed eyes were no longer slits, but big gems of intrigue. "Oh, hey, you're right. Cool."

"So uh, do you want to stay and listen to me tune my guitar? I mean, you_ do _owe me for dragging me into this alley without my consent, y'know. I had to hide with you, now you have to listen to me and my guitar," he offered.

Isabel pondered the thought in her head, rolled her eyes and then made her decision. "Eh, fine, alright, I'll stay and listen—you're not goin' to strangle me with your instrument, are ya?" She asked as she sat down with him, their legs criss-crossed and their backs to the brick wall.

A large green dumpster sat diagonally across from them, next to a wired fence, and there was a door right next to the two young adults on their right. Isabel wondered if it was a restaurant door-her thoughts came to a halt as a loud note on the street musician's guitar was played.

"You ever play guitar?" He asked her, tuning his precious instrument carefully. "Me? Guitar? Pfft, hell no. I wanted to try, but the bitch of a mom I had never wanted me to pursue any of my interests. Though I did teach myself how to play the drums," she answered nonchalantly.

"Drums, eh? Nice," he plucked some strings, listening intently to the sound that came from them.

"You're not from here, are you? Like, from the US. You've got an accent. What is that, like, British or Irish or somethin'?"

"Scottish, actually, though me Mum was full Irish. I'm half Scottish, half Irish."

"Ah, I see…"

"Tell me about your Mum, why does it sound like you hate her so much?"

Isabel scoffed, "I _do _hate her so much. She was a whore." She was now hugging her knees closer to her, her chin resting on them.

The street musician his strummed guitar once in a satisfying way of showing that his instrument was finally tuned before putting it back into his guitar case.

Before he closed up his case, though, he pulled out a metal flask, a lighter, and a pack of cigarettes. Isabel's eyes widened as he flipped the cigarette pack open and offered one to her. "Smoke?" He asked, and in a flash, she had a stick in her mouth, all lit up.

The street musician had a cigarette in his mouth too, but once in a while he would take a swig out of his flask.

"What's in there?" Isabel asked curiously. He handed her the flask, "See for yourself."

She simply just shrugged and chugged some of the liquid down. It left her with a very strong after taste. "Hm…" She tried naming the mix of alcohol that was in the flask she'd just drunken out of.

"So…you've got Jack Daniels, Jaeger, traces of vodka, and splashes of beer...how cheap," she smiled, handing the metal case back to the musician. He grinned and took another swig out of it before placing it back in the guitar case and putting the cigarette in his mouth.

"Well, I don't make much. I'm just a lowly street musician, trying to get by in life, y'know? I make at least twenty a day. Usually I sleep in parks. It's just me and me ol' guitar, y'know?" He explained.

"Ya know, you never told me your name and yet we've already practically shared spit," Isabel gestured to the alcohol container.

"It's Farlan. Farlan MacMarrow," the blonde beamed kindly. Isabel nodded and smirked at him. Farlan sighed, "And I could say the same for you…you never told me _your _name either."

"It's Isabel," Isabel sighed as well, and Farlan interjected, "No last name?"

"Why do you want to know my last name?"

"'Cause I told you mine and it's only fair you tell me yours. Not like I've got the right necessities to stalk you anyways," he joked.

"Well, if ya must know…it's di Angelo."

"Isabel di Angelo…huh, nice name."

"Thanks. It's my dad's. Not my mother's."

"So…what ever happened to you, Isabel? What brings you to the crummy streets of New York?" Farlan asked in his thick Scottish accent, eyeing the girl with a smirk and a twinkle in his hazel eyes. Isabel scoffed and sucked in a puff of smoke before putting her cigarette down.

"I ran away from home, simple as that," she paused for a moment and then continued, "Long story short, after my dad died, my mom whored herself out for cash and ended up getting hooked with a shitty drunk asshole in Harlem. I was twelve when they got married. He tried raping me. Told my mom—she didn't believe me. And one night, I just decided—I was going to be independent. I was going to make all my choices in life from then on. I was seventeen; it was sort of an epiphany…anyways, I kicked my stepdad in the balls and left. Never looked back. Never saw 'em again."

Farlan grinned, "Pretty, er…_ballsy_ of you, if I might say." Isabel snorted at his pun and sucked in another whiff of smoke, inhaling it deeply this time.

"So what about you, Fartland?" She poked fun at his name. He chuckled, smoke flying out of his mouth as he put his own cigarette down.

"After me Mum died, I wanted to follow my dreams and become a musician. Me dad? Nah. He wanted me to take over his wine business. I said no, and that Mum would encourage me to pursue my dreams if _she _was still alive. He told me that was bullshit. We had a huge fight when I was about twenty and I just upped and left. Took all the money I'd been saving for college and used it to pay for a plane ticket here. Took the first plane out here; barely any money or clothes. It was just me and me ol' guitar…"

He stopped talking and placed the joint in his mouth quickly before exhaling and then continuing, "I've been living here for two years now. Dad never even phoned or even tried to find me. Guess I'm dead to 'im."

Isabel patted Farlan's shoulder, "Sorry 'bout that, Fartland. At least you did what you thought was right! That's what really counts. I admire you for that."

Farlan patted Isabel's shoulder in return, "Thanks, Iz. I admire you for kicking your stepdad in the balls."

After a while of talking and getting to know each other, Isabel giggled and sighed, "Well, it's not like we'll ever meet again after this. I'll leave soon and we'll go our separate ways. I'll go back to pickpocketing and sleeping in the streets. You'll go back to making music and waiting for the day you'll become famous."

Farlan shrugged, "True. But you never know what fate has in store for us. We might meet again—destiny is a weird thing."

"Ha! You actually _believe _in all of that stuff? Pfft, freak."

"Heeey, you're the one to talk, you go around stealing and then spending all of it on cigarettes!"

"I—"

Isabel was interrupted by the ravenous growling that came from her stomach. "Oh, shit. I'm getting so hungry…I haven't eaten in days…!"

Farlan craned his neck to check the door next to them. "Hey, here's a restaurant, let's find out what kind of restaurant it is!" He stood up and was about to sling his guitar case over his shoulder when a loud _BANG!_ almost scared the lights out of him and Isabel.

Isabel jolted up in surprise, and both realized that the bang had come from the restaurant back door. It opened quickly, making Farlan and Isabel both stagger back away from the door in surprise.

"COME BACK WHEN YOU'VE ACTUALLY GOT THE COKE! Call yourself a drug dealer, don't even have the right amount of coke…" snapped a bearded, ungrateful man, who was glaring at a silver-blue eyed man in front of him.

The silver-blue eyed man was shorter than the bearded man—but though he was standing at five feet three inches, he still seemed intimidating with that fierce glare and raven-black hair.

"H-hey…I know him," Farlan's eyes widened as he stepped forward, but Isabel grabbed his arm and pulled him back. "Who, the drug dealer or the ugly bearded guy?" She hissed, and Farlan nodded, "The drug dealer. I get pot from him once in a while, whenever I go to the Bronx."

Inch by inch, little by little, the two young adults stepped forward, making their presence known by the two men who were about to start a fight.

After a few more moments of yelling and ranting by the bearded man, the silent short one kicked him in the groin. And after kicking the bearded ass in the groin, he proceeded to beat him up furthermore.

Isabel stood with her mouth open, afraid and amused at the same time, while Farlan, at the last minute, ran in between the beaten up man and the thug, who shook his head and muttered in a low voice, "Ungrateful shit."

"H-hey, hey, hey. Levi. I reckon you've done him in more than you needed," Farlan started off slowly. Isabel watched as the man on the ground shot Levi a glare, shouted, "I'm never buying from you again," and then ran into the restaurant, slamming the back door with a loud _BANG!_

"Oh, he's just lucky you didn't sic the police on 'im," Farlan said, then adding, "I know most of the stuff you have is illegal in most states _and _Puerto Rico."

Isabel snorted and walked over, shaking her head slightly with a tiny smile out of the corner of her face.

"Farlan," Levi stated in a blunt voice, "Nice seeing you." Isabel couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or that was just his general demeanor.

"Oh, you remember me? That's cool. Oh, yeah, this is—" Farlan strode over next to Isabel, who interrupted him and introduced herself, "Isabel. I, uh, accidentally ran into Farlan today."

Levi looked her up and down and she glared, "Are you checking me out or something?" She folded her arms and cocked an eyebrow.

Levi ignored her question. He looked over at Farlan, "I'm heading back to the apartments. You coming?" Farlan shrugged, "Oh sure, why not."

Levi started walking out of the alley, Farlan in tow with his instrument already with him—until Isabel cleared her throat. "Uh, bye, then?" Her voice tilted as she spoke, making her sentence sound like a question.

"Yeah, she can come too," Levi kept walking straight ahead, already knowing that Farlan was going to ask the question. Isabel grinned and ran up next to Farlan.

"So, where to, Captain?" She joked, earning a small smirk from the straight-faced Levi.

"New York City," he told her, "We're taking the subway."

* * *

The sky was already darkening as the three walked endlessly around New York City. "Um, where exactly are these fucking apartments?" Isabel groaned, thinking her feet were already covered with blisters from walking so much. They'd taken the subway, sure, but the journey to the _actual _apartments was laborious as hell.

"They're just around the corner," Levi replied, seeming calm and not out of breath (like Isabel was). Farlan seemed to be quite fine with the trip, and Isabel knew because on the subway, he'd told her that he'd sometimes stay at these apartments on bad nights. So of course, he was used to walking the thirty-minute (but 5-hour seeming) trip to these apartments.

Isabel looked around. New York City was beautiful—but not where _she _was at the moment. She was stuck in a crummy, dirty, ratty area—dirtier than she had ever seen. She'd never been to _this _part of New York City in her life—always venturing around the middle-class places, not the dirt-infested, thug-and-homeless-people places.

Though she quite belonged there herself.

"We're here!" Farlan cheered, and Isabel found herself staring at an old, broken down apartment. It didn't look fit to live in, but anything was better than sleeping in a park or under a bridge.

The three took an elevator down to the basement, which was where Levi's own apartment was.

To her amazement, though the apartment building looked absolutely crappy and shitty outside, it was…clean and pristine—at least, in Levi's place. The rest of the other apartment units looked shitty inside, but not Levi's.

His was made up neatly—from the couch, to the table, the kitchen, and even the shelf of drugs in the corner of the living room was lined up nicely.

"Y'know what? I'm starved," Isabel groaned and sat down on the carpet by the couch, afraid to touch the seat itself in fear it might be dirtied up in her presence.

"Oh, yeah, sorry," Farlan apologized, "We never got you that food you wanted." Isabel scoffed, "After seeing that ugly bearded weirdo, I don't really care for that restaurant anymore…"

Levi rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt. "I've got some coffee and bread," he announced, "I'll get you two some. The least I could do."

Isabel nodded and Farlan sat down next to her. "He's actually a nice person, don't be fooled by that cold, icy armor he puts himself in," he whispered. She nodded and then looked at the shelf of drugs in front of her. "Um, how come he hasn't been arrested yet?"

Farlan laughed, "Oh, he's too smart for that. No one, absolutely _nobody_ knows where Levi lives."

Isabel cocked an eyebrow, "Um, but we do."

"_Stupid!" _Farlan exclaimed, "_You're absolutely stupid!" _

Isabel gasped, "Hey, shut up! No, I'm not!"

"Listen, here, this isn't even his real pad, Isabel. These drugs here—this is his, well, if this whole thing was a house, you see—this apartment would be Levi's common room. The only place guests see. His real hiding place? His real hiding place—his real home, is the bedroom of the figurative house—which is very private. In general, no one knows exactly where it is."

Farlan explained, adding, "If people, the police to be exact, chase after him, they're all going to go to this place. They'll see the drugs, everything. But they won't find him. He'll be in his _real _place. Somewhere we have yet to find."

Isabel scoffed and then rolled her eyes, "I didn't get _any _of that...but whatever. How the hell was _I _supposed to know this wasn't his real place? I only just met the guy!" She waved a hand as if to push the explanation away.

"You _really _aren't that smart, are ya?" Farlan sighed.

Isabel squinted at him, "Okay, maybe I dropped out of high school, didn't go to college and spent most of my life stealing _shit _from other people. But you have no right to patronize me like this!" Isabel stood up and moved away from the blonde.

After a few moments of silence, Farlan moved closer to the auburn-haired girl. "Ey, look here, I apologize. I note that I must've been rash. Sorry 'bout that."

Isabel, who had currently buried her face in her arms and was hugging her knees, looked up. She sniffled and shook her head. "Whatever, Fartland." She looked him in the eye and shrugged.

"I'm gonna take that as words of forgiveness," Farlan snapped his fingers and then started to open his guitar case.

Levi came back with two saucers and mugs of coffee on a tray. "Wowza, for a thug, you _sure _are…polite," Isabel noted, taking a drink out of her mug, then taking a bite out of the jammed-up toast on the saucer.

"So, Farlan. How long do you plan on staying this time?" Levi asked, nibbling on some toast. Farlan wiped away some jam at the corner of his mouth and shrugged. "I dunno, actually."

Levi nodded, then eyed Isabel. "You. Er, Isabel," he started out slowly, remembering her name, "What's your deal?"

Isabel engulfed some coffee before replying. "My…deal? You mean, like, how'd I end up on the crappy streets?"

Levi answered, "If you want to say it like that, then yes. How did you end up on the crappy streets of New York?"

"Well…uh…I ran away from home when I was seventeen. I didn't have anything—no family to run to, no money, absolutely nothing. I guess you could say…I'm an orphan."

Aqua eyes met crystalline silver-blue ones.

"Ah, I see," Levi said, "And how old are you now?"

"Me? Er...twenty-something. I lost count after my nineteenth birthday. I just stopped caring by then," She leaned back onto the couch.

Farlan widened his eyes, "You don't know how old you are? Well…how long's it been since you ran away from home?"

"Five years," she replied nonchalantly.

"Ah, so that would make you twenty-two," Levi told her, "You're the same age as Farlan. Except he's turning twenty-three in a few weeks."

Isabel bobbed her head up and down in response—a sign that she understood. "Levi, how old are ya?" She asked out of the blue.

"Twenty-eight," he sipped his coffee.

"Interesting…and how exactly did you get involved with drug-dealing? And how did you get all that shit?" She jutted her chin out in the direction of the drugs.

"That's for me to know and for you to find out."

* * *

After talking and finishing up what was obviously their dinner (though toast and coffee was more of a breakfast meal), Levi pointed at the window. "The view's best at this time of night. The city lights seem…brighter."

Isabel ran up to the window—and by golly, was he _right. _Since Levi's apartment was on the most bottom level, all the towering skyscrapers of the city looked like giant blocks that led up to heaven. The view from Levi's apartment was absolutely sublime, because all the skyscrapers and buildings of New York City was in view. They glittered with gold—from the lights, Isabel presumed, but she wanted to imagine that they glittered because they _were _actually made of gold.

It was beautiful—like heaven itself at night—like stars on Earth. Yes, that was what it looked like—stars, at arm's reach, on Earth.

"I-it's…amazing," she breathed out, breathless. Farlan grinned, "I know, right?! Sometimes when I'd stay over here, I'd see the lights and…they just want to make you cry, don't they?"

Isabel nodded, "Yeah, but like _hell _I'm crying." This made Farlan laugh, and she added, "I want to go there. To the where the skyscrapers are. And…maybe live there." Farlan sighed, "It's a distant dream, it is."

The two were both interrupted by the sound of a chord being played on a guitar.

Both young adults spun around.

"Levi…you know how to play guitar?" Isabel asked and sat down on the ground next to Levi. Farlan sat next to Isabel and explained, "Yeah, he's played for me once or twice before. I know, I'm surprised to. He sang, once. Hey, Levi, can you do that song you once wrote? I forgot it was called…The Murderer's Daughter? Somethin' like that…"

Levi cleared his throat, "It's _The Mortician's Daughter." _

"You write songs?!" Isabel clasped her hands together, "Oh, that's cool! Ooh, Levi, please sing that song you wrote! I wanna hear it!"

Levi looked reluctant but Farlan persuaded him by simply saying, "She's never heard it before."

And so, hesitantly, he played-first strumming the intro.

Then Levi sang—his voice low and raspy, but melodic and calm. It was soothing—like a river flowing, or being submerged in a tub of hot water after a stressful day.

And Isabel—Isabel loved it. She loved his voice, it was perfect.

_"I love you more than I can ever scream…" _When Levi sang this line, it popped out at Isabel and she felt like crying. She pulled her knees close to her and rested her chin on her knees.

Glancing at Levi as he performed, she noticed that he seemed…so content. Legitimately happy, even.

_"Regrets still haunt your hollow head, but I promise you and now I'm home again…again…I'm home again…"_

When Levi finally finished, Isabel found herself clapping. Suddenly, a crazy idea popped up into her head.

"What if…what if we started a band?"

Levi and Farlan looked at her blankly.

"Oh, don't look at me like that! Listen, I can play the drums, Farlan can play guitar, and you, you, Levi—you can sing _and _play the guitar! We could—we could earn good money, and I mean, I don't expect us to be _totally _famous, but we should play in like, bars and shit."

Farlan gazed at Levi, "She's right. We should totally do this…and I mean, you could keep your drug dealing business, so we could have some money off to the side if our musical career doesn't work out. And uh, nobody really has to know, y'know?"

"But what if people recognize Levi…?" Isabel asked, eyebrows furrowed.

"Oh, they'll recognize him, alright. But they won't touch him. Nope, they won't tell," Farlan replied with a twinkle in his eye.

The two looked at Levi. He shrugged, "Whatever."

"So are you in or not?"

"Eh…alright."

Isabel and Farlan cheered, "YESSS!" And high-fived each other in happiness. Isabel cleared her throat, "Okay, down to business. We need a band name. We need stage names. And equipment. And money. And holy shit, I'm fucking freaking out! Oh, yeah! And we need to contact bars to see if we can get booked to perform there. And—"

"Isabel. Calm down," Levi told her.

"And why do we need stage names? Well, if it's absolutely necessary, I'll go with Chruch. Farlan Church. Sounds cool, eh?" Farlan grinned.

Isabel was acting like a fangirling twelve-year-old, much to Levi's dismay, "OOH! OOH! And I'll go with Isabel Magnolia!"

"Why Magnolia?" Levi asked.

"I don't know, it just sounds pretty! Okay, now onto the next piece of business; a band name! We need a—"

"Rebel Law," Levi interrupted.

"Why that, Levi?" Farlan asked.

"We live by our own rules," he shrugged one shoulder.

A mischievous smile crept up onto Isabel's face. "That's genius," she exclaimed. Farlan smiled with her.

"And as for equipment…I think I've saved enough money to buy what we need," Levi told them, not bothering to state a specific amount. Isabel didn't care—all that mattered was that he had enough money at _all._

"Alright. How about, first thing in the morning, we go buy the equipment. And new clothes," Isabel said, and Farlan agreed.

"Fine with me," Levi responded, then placed Farlan's guitar back in its case.

Moments passed before someone spoke again.

"I propose a plan. Well, it's more of an idea but whatever," Isabel announced, then continuing without waiting for a reply, "Alright. I don't know if we're going to be ultra-famous or not, but by the looks of it…we probably won't even get a record label. But—if by some ultra-weird fucking chance, we do score a record label, record a hit album, and get amazingly popular—we won't change. You guys have to promise me that…we're never going to be like the stupid fake-ass, shitty celebrities these days. We're going to be who we are—raw, down-to-Earth, you know the drill."

Farlan nodded, and so did Levi. "I'm completely down with that," Farlan said.

"And we'll never be royals," Isabel grinned, a flash of mischief in her sparkling blue eyes. Farlan grinned with her, and Levi managed to crack a tiny smile, but that was all he gave.

And from then on, those three were inseparable—friends from the beginning, and until the end.

And somehow, though the city lights were already as bright as they could be—they shined brighter—brighter than the stars in the sky, brighter than the sun.

It was magical.

* * *

**_Idk, man. I feel like I'm being repetitive when I'm writing this fanfic or something? Whatever. Ah, yes, yes. I finally uploaded the first chapter of this fanfic! I really like this fanfic, though. The song Levi sang, 'The Mortician's Daughter' is actually a real song by Black Veil Brides (which I do not own). Go listen to it now! It's beautiful. 3 _**

**_TBH, for me, if Levi had a singing voice, it would be Andy Biersack's. (Lead singer of Black Veil Brides. So imagine him singing 'The Mortician's Daughter for me, will ya? Okay, thanks, ha.) Isabel's singing voice would be Taylor Momsen's, and Farlan's would be Alex Gaskarth's. _**

**_Alright. So A Choice With No Regrets has been also turned into a visual novel, yay! _**

**_Anyways, read & review please! Thank you for your support! And I will try updating my Springles fanfic soon! _**

**_Love always, InsaneAngel22 _**


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